ONE  WISH 


ONE  WISH 


AND  OTHER  POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  LIFE 


By 
SARA  BEAUMONT  KENNEDY 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1915 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS    OF 

BRAUNWORTH   &    CO. 

BOOKBINDERS    AND    PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,    N.    Yi 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

Walker  Kennedy  and  Katherine  Hobson, 
my  husband  and  niece,  whose  fineness 
of  perception  and  purity  of  vision  never 
failed  to  inspire  me,  this  book  is  dedicated. 

S.  B.  K. 


2091343 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ALL  SOULS    .........     84 

ANNIVERSARIES      .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .88 

BON  VOYAGE         .        ...        .        .        .        .74 

COMRADES  THREE          .......     64 

CONTENT       .        .        . 90 

DAY  AFTER  DAY 68 

DAY'S  END .         .         .76 

FAILURE 31 

FATE'S  TRINITY 79 

GOING  HOME         .         .        .        .        .         .         .         .16 

HILLS  OF  GOD,  THE 78 

HUNDRED  YEARS,  A 26 

INFLUENCE  Is  RESPONSIBILITY 23 

LET  YOUR  WOMEN  KEEP  SILENCE          .        .        .        .32 

LITTLE  THINGS,  THE 57 

LOVERS'  LANE       ........     72 

MASTER'S  TOLL,  THE  . 82 

MY  PRAYER  .        , 36 

MY  SONG      ...        *        .        .         .        .        .54 

NINTH  HOUR,  THE       .        .        .    .    .        .        .        .62 

OLD  SONGS    .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .18 

O  LITTLE  FEET 38 

ONE  DAY      ....  48 


CONTENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

ONE  WISH IS 

ON  THE  TRAIL 43 

RAINBOW'S  END 70 

RED  ROSES 52 

SHIP  o'  DREAMS 50 

SOLSTICES,  THE 47 

SOMEWHERE,  SOME  DAY 34 

SONG 75 

STRANDED     .........  28 

SWEETEST  EYES 86 

THREE  SINGERS 40 

TIRED 60 

UNANSWERED 85 

WAITING .20 

WANDER- WAY,  THE 80 

WHAT  THEN  ? 67 

WRITING  IN  THE  SAND,  THE 44 

YESTERDAY  .........  58 

YOUR  HANDS 24 


ONE  WISH 


ONE  WISH 

If  I  might  have  in  all  the  scope  of  life 

One  wish-come-true, 

Just  one,  and  nothing  more  through  all  the  years 
That  Sorrow  shrives  and  Hope  endears, 

'Twould  be  for  you. 

If  I  might  have  just  one  short  prayer  that  found 

Its  way  to  grace 

And  won  an  answer  from  fate's  high  decree, 
That  prayer,  O  best  beloved  one,  would  be 

To  see  your  face. 

That  wish-come-true  and  that  one  answered  prayer, 

Whate'er  betide, 

Would  be  the  hostage  of  my  faith  in  God, 
And  though  the  hot  plow-shares  of  life  I  trod 

I  would  be  satisfied. 


15 


GOING  HOME 

When  I  went  home  to  you,  though  rough  and  steep 
The  way,  I  never  stopped  to  care; 

The  end  was  rose-hued  with  the  light  of  love, 
Knowing  you  waited  there. 

I  could  not  run  too  fast,  O  heart  of  mine, 
When  I  went  home  to  you. 

When  I  went  home  to  you,  no  matter  what 

The  hours  had  held  of  toil  or  grief  or  fret 

Was  left  outside  the  opened  door — 

The  pure,  sweet  smile  of  you  made  me  forget 

Life's  burden  and  its  bitter  weariness, 
When  I  went  home  to  you. 


16 


GOING  HOME  17 

For  in  your  calm  and  brave  serenity 

There  was  no  room  for  faith's  unrest ; 

You  reached  a  hand  of  hope  and  helpfulness 
Into  the  darkest  shadows  that  oppressed. 

I  seemed  to  walk  straight  into  God's  white  light 
When  I  went  home  to  you. 

But,  ah !  when  I  go  home  and  find  you  not 
I  can  not  leave  behind  the  old  despair ; 

It  dogs  my  steps  up  to  the  close-shut  door, 

Inside  of  which  there  waits  your  empty  chair, 

And  all  of  life's  deep  bitterness  comes  back 
When  I  go  home  and  find  you  not. 

When  I  go  home  and  know  you  are  not  there 

The  smoothest  path  is  rough  and  hard ; 
I  hate  the  window  where  your  light  once  burned. 

( I  wish  to  God  it  were  forever  barred  ! ) 
The  whole  house  seems  a  charnel  place  of  joy 

When  I  go  home  and  know  you  are  not 
there. 


OLD  SONGS 

A-down  the  years  they  come  to  me 

From  out  the  crypts  of  time, 
With  half-forgotten  melody 

And  faintly  failing  rhyme; 
With  here  and  there  a  broken  chord, 

A  missing  word  or  phrase, 
But  sweet  as  angel  whispers  are — 

The  songs  of  by-gone  days. 

A  snatch  of  college  drinking  song, 
A  verse  of  cradle  hymn, 

A  bar  of  tender  serenade, 

Sung  when  the  stars  were  dim — 


18 


OLD  SONGS  19 

The  truant  strains  they  come  and  go 

Like  sparks  in  smoky  haze, 
A  tangle  of  sweet  memories — 

The  songs  of  by-gone  days. 

And  as  the  measures  float  along, 

Like  shadows  o'er  the  sea, 
Across  the  bloom  and  drift  of  years 

Lost  faces  smile  on  me ; 
Eyes  dimmed  in  death's  eternal  night 

Meet  mine  in  love's  long  gaze, 
I  kiss  the  marble  lips  that  sang 

Those  songs  of  by-gone  days. 

Old  tunes  touch  hidden  chords  in  hearts 

Long  mute  with  age  or  pain, 
And  give  us  for  a  fleeting  space 

Lost  faith  and  hope  again. 
Within  yon  Cloudland's  Far- A  way 

Where  swell  the  hymns  of  praise 
God  grant  the  angels  sometimes  sing 

The  songs  of  by-gone  days. 


WAITING 

And  so  we  have  come  back  again 

Through  wreckage  of  dark  nights  and  days, 

Back  to  the  parting  of  the  ways, 
Back  to  the  milestone  of  lost  dreams. 

And  in  our  emptied  hearts  we  bring 
No  sun-lit  joy  for  hopes  achieved, 
No  gratitude  for  grief  reprieved, 

No  suaging  sense  of  faith  fulfilled. 

Instead,  turn  wheresoe'er  we  may, 
There  haunts  us  like  a  lost  despair 
The  ghost  of  an  unanswered  prayer— 

The  one  dear  thing  we  asked  of  God. 


20 


WAITING  21 

They  who  expound  the  Gospel  say : 

"Ye  have  not  asked  the  thing  ye  should." 
How  can  we  choose?    How  know  the  good 

Is  not  the  thing  we  want  the  most? 

Christ  made  no  bargain  save  for  faith — 
"Believe,  and  ask  but  in  my  name." 
When  we  do  this  where  lies  the  blame 

That  we  come  empty-hearted  to  the  end  ? 

We  can  not  understand.     We  trust 

That  somewhere  God's  high  purpose  waits 
To  solve  the  problem  of  life's  hates 

And  loves  and  free-born  destinies — 

We  only  know  that  since  our  prayers 
Come  back  unanswered  of  His  grace 
We  must,  of  our  own  courage,  face 

The  whips  of  fate,  nor  whine  nor  yield. 


22  WAITING 

For  this  is  self-respect.     And  while 

We  hold  to  this  we  can  not  lose 

Our   better   nature,    though    God   should   refuse 
To  keep  His  promise  of  an  answered  prayer. 

And  so,  with  steadfast  faith,  but  in  ourselves, 
We  have  come  back  through  darkened  days, 
Back  to  the  parting  of  the  ways 

To  wait  beside  the  milestone  of  lost  dreams. 


INFLUENCE  IS  RESPONSIBILITY 

Thou  canst  not  stand  aloof  and  wait 

For  peaceful  aftermath 
Lest  thy  indifference  prove  a  snare 

In  some  poor  toiler's  path. 

If  so  thy  feet  have  reached  the  heights 
Built  upward  toward  the  day, 

The  torch  within  thy  lifted  hand 
Lights  all  the  downward  way. 

And  if  its  guiding  spark  be  quenched 

In  tears  of  selfish  dole, 
One  day  thy  God  may  ask  of  thee 

Thy  weaker  sister's  soul. 


23 


YOUR  HANDS 

So  weak  and  impotent  they  seem, 
Your  two  small,  tired  hands; 
So  little  might  they  grasp,  and  yet 
So  many  tasks  for  them  were  set, 
So  many  tangled  strands. 

So  idle  once  and  prone  to  ease, 

So  cared  for  and  so  white, 
Now,  scarred  with  burdens  duty  spread 
And  with  the  battle  waged  for  bread, 

They  wait  the  coming  night. 


24 


YOUR  HANDS  25 

When  at  the  last  the  Master's  voice 

Speaks  its  Divine  commands 
And  asks  the  record  of  your  work — 
Or  did  you  strive  or  did  you  shirk — 

Just  show  Him  your  two  hands. 

And  He  your  service  or  your  sloth 

Will  read  in  scar  and  line; 
He'll  know  whence  all  the  roughness  came — 
Witness  of  help  or  stamp  of  shame, 

Or  love's  clear  counter-sign. 

Invisible  to  human  eyes 

May  be  the  secret  scroll, 
But  naught  the  Master's  will  withstands, 
And  by  the  witness  of  your  hands 

He'll  one  day  judge  your  soul. 


A  HUNDRED  YEARS 

A  hundred  years  from  now,  dear  heart, 

They  say  we  will  not  care 
For  suns  that  scorch  or  winds  that  wreck, 

Or  burdens  we  must  bear. 
A  hundred  years  from  now  the  rose 

Of  love  will  wilted  lie, 
And  asphodels  of  endless  death 

Will  signal  to  the  sky. 


26 


A  HUNDRED  YEARS  27 

A  hundred  years  from  now,  dear  heart, 

They  say  the  tears  we  shed 
Will  be  forgot,  the  hot,  salt  tears 

That  could  not  wake  our  dead. 
A  hundred  years,  the  vibrant  song 

That  hope  sang  to  the  stars 
Will  be  a  silence  of  the  soul, 

A  stillness  nothing  mars. 

A  hundred  years — What  then  ?    A  void, 

A  deep  abysmal  gloom? 
Or  radiant  vistas,  music-sweet, 

Of  life  and  love  and  bloom? 
A  hundred  years !   We  may  not  care 

E'en  as  the  wise  ones  say; 
But  God !    Those  crawling  hundred  years 

Ere  we  outlive  To-day ! 


STRANDED 

It  lies  in  shallows,  half  a-shore, 
A-swing  beyond  the  billows'  play, 

A  warped,  deserted,  battered  hulk 
That  has  sailed  out  its  little  day. 

To  what  far  ports  it  took  its  flight, 
What  sails  gleamed  at  its  broken  mast, 

What  costly  cargoes  piled  its  decks, 
What  pilot  steered  it  home  at  last 

28 


STRANDED  29 

We  may  not  know ;  just  only  this : 
It  served  its  purpose  out  and  now 

It  lies  brown-ribbed  upon  the  sand 
With  gaping  seams  and  rotting  prow. 

But  lying  thus,  we  know  it  waits 

For  some  storm-ridden,  moonless  night 

When  lifted  clear  of  rock  and  reef 
'Twill  put  to  sea  without  a  light. 

And  free  and  far  for  one  fierce  hour 
'Twill  breast  the  deep  it  roamed  of  yore, 

Then  from  the  crest  of  some  high  wave 
Go  down  to  sail  no  more,  no  more ! 

But  ere  it  sinks  it  will  have  known 
Once  more  the  thrill  of  outward  reach, 

And  better  that  one  teeming  hour 
Than  stagnant  years  upon  the  beach ! 


30  STRANDED 

And  there  are  souls  that,  stranded,  wait 
For  flood-tide  help  to  break  away 

From  shallow  sloughs  and  sunken  rocks, 
And  seek  the  ports  of  Outer  Day. 

'Mid  stress  of  storm  and  racing  wind 
That  whitens  all  the  sea  with  foam, 

Some  day  they'll  hear  the  Pilot's  call 
And  see  the  harbor  lights  of  Home. 

But  stranded  men,  like  stranded  ships, 
Die  better  for  an  hour  of  strife — 

One  strong  up-lift,  one  victory  cry, 
One  challenge  flung  to  love  and  life. 


FAILURE 

To  strive  and  not  succeed,  yet  still  have  strength 
To  stifle  back  the  moan  and  chide  the  pain, 
And  rise  once  more  and  bravely  seek  to  trace 
A  new  foothold  among  life's  broken  shards 

Which  pierce  us  with  regret — 
That  is  not  failure,  but  the  soul's  high  test, 
That  is  to  grow  toward  God  in  grace, 

Yea,  to  be  born  again. 

But,  oh !  to  miss  the  goal,  and  to  sink  down 
With  shaking  hands  beside  the  upward  trail, 
Too  spent  to  lift  again  life's  weary  load, 
Too  numb  to  find  a  light,  or  in  the  dark  a  sign, 

Or  in  the  heart  a  hope — 
That  is  to  drink  of  Marah's  bitter  cup, 
That  is  to  feel  fate's  biting  goad, 

That  is  at  last  to  fail. 


31 


LET  YOUR  WOMEN   KEEP  SILENCE 
I  CORINTHIANS  14 :34 

And  who  laid  on  her  this  silence, 
Some  one  who  had  never  abhorred 

The  Beautiful  Teacher  of  Wisdom? 
Nay,  one  who  had  mocked  at  his  Lord — 

One  who  hounded  with  threatenings 
Disciples  who  worked  out  His  will, 

One  who  "breathed  slaughter"  against  them— 
He  said :   "Let  a  woman  keep  still." 

32 


LET  YOUR  WOMEN  KEEP  SILENCE       33 

She  may  not  speak  in  your  temples, 

It  is  not  "seemly"  nor  right? — 
And  yet  'tis  her  faith  that  through  ages 

Has  kept  its  clear  tapers  a-light. 

For  man  had  gone  back  to  the  savage, 
Forgetting  the  soul  and  its  need, 

Yea,  lapsed  to  the  club  and  the  cave-house 
Had  woman  not  held  to  her  creed. 

White-souled  as  the  radiant  lilies 
That  bloom  in  the  muck  of  the  sod, 

She  may  not  speak  in  your  temples — 
Yet  a  woman  was  mother  of  God! 


SOMEWHERE,  SOME  DAY 

Somewhere,  some  day,  nor  time  nor  place 

Our  hearts  may  set, 
Although  the  longing  stifles  us 

And  eyes  grow  wet — 

Somewhere,  some  day,  in  lush  of  bloom 

Or  drift  of  snow, 
In  dusk  of  dark  lit  by  dim  stars, 

In  noon's  white  glow — 


34 


SOMEWHERE,  SOME  DAY  35 

The  things  we  hoped  but  dared  not  speak 

The  long  years  through, 
The  dearest  dreams  that  haunt  our  hearts 

Will  all  come  true. 

I  can  not  tell  why  I  believe; 

By  subtle  sign 
I  know  we'll  walk  the  sun-lit  hills, 

Your  hand  in  mine. 

I  can  not  see  where  those  hills  lift 

Their  verdant  way, 
But,  ah !   I  know  we'll  find  the  heights 

Somewhere,  some  day. 

And  there  we'll  gather  up  our  dreams 

And  count  them  o'er; 
Your  whispering  lips  close  at  my  ear 

Forever  more. 


MY  PRAYER 

I  do  not  trouble  God  with  small  requests, 
I  earn,  not  ask  my  daily  bread; 
'Tis  for  my  toiling  hands  to  keep 
The  sheltering  roof  above  my  head — 

I  do  not  weary  God  with  such  behests. 

For  if  each  day  I  am  to  beg  and  whine 
About  His  knees  for  food  and  drink, 
Why  did  He  give  me  strength  and  skill, 
Why  have  I  power  to  plan  and  think — 

Why  am  I  different  from  the  browsing  kine? 


36 


MY  PRAYER  37 

When  He  placed  me  erect  and  taught  me  speech, 
When  He  gave  me  a  hand  and  not  a  claw, 
He  therewith,  and  for  ages,  laid 
Upon  my  soul  the  steadfast  law 

Of  self-dependence  and  of  onward  reach. 

And  so  I  do  not  trouble  Him  with  small  requests, 
Begging  each  day  a  crust  of  bread, 
Waiting  for  Him,  by  miracle, 
To  keep  the  roof -tree  o'er  my  head — 

I  do  not  weary  God  with  such  behests. 

And  yet  I  pray, 

Yea,  in  my  heart  is  one  unceasing  prayer 
And  on  my  lips  a  never-dying  song — 
That  God  will  teach  me  how  to  make 
My  daily  choice  'twixt  right  and  wrong 

That  I  may  play  life's  game,  and  play  it  fair ! 


O   LITTLE   FEET 

O  little  feet,  O  little  feet 

That  ran  so  swift  and  gay 
A-down  the  road  to  Happiness 

When  hope  was  in  its  May — 
O  little  feet  that  never  tired, 

Each  milestone  was  a  friend 
That  lured  you  down  the  path  to  where 

Love  waited  at  the  end ! 

O  little  feet,  O  little  feet, 

How  slowly  you  came  back 
Along  the  road  from  Happiness, 

How  rough  and  hard  the  track ! 
Your  dancing  step  you  have  forgot, 

Each  stone  and  thorn  you  find, 
You  limp  where  once  you  stepped  so  light, 

For  love  is  left  behind. 


38 


O  LITTLE  FEET  39 

O  little  feet,  O  little  feet, 

You've  learned  the  heart-break  song — 
The  road  to  Happiness  is  short, 

The  backward  trail  is  long ! 
The  milestones  that  with  beckoning  hand 

Cheered  all  the  onward  way 
Like  specters  haunt  the  silent  lane 

That  leads  from  Arcady ! 


THREE  SINGERS 

In  the  years'  white  dawn  three  singers  came 

Out  of  the  mists  of  time, 

And  touched  their  harps  'neath  her  window  high 
And  sang  her  a  golden  rhyme. 

Sang,  as  she  waited  behind  the  pane 

In  a  rift  of  sun  or  ripple  of  rain, 

For  the  fateful  thing  that  should  be  a  sign ; 

While  her  fingers  plucked  at  the  twisted  vine. 


40 


THREE  SINGERS  41 

One  Singer  was  Wealth,  and  jewels  gleamed 

As  he  struck  his  twanging  strings ; 
And  he  chanted  the  amber  wine  of  joy 
And  the  pleasure  its  quaffing  brings. 

And  she  leaned  to  see  where  the  trail  would 

run, 

And  saw  the  shadow  spread  over  the  sun 
When  the  gold  had  melted  some  far,  sad  day ; 
And  she  flung  him  a  leaf,  and  turned  away. 

One  Singer  was  Fame,  and  place  and  power 

And  plaudits  and  peans  of  praise 
He  promised  her  if  she'd  follow  him 
Far  out  of  the  valley's  maze. 
And  she  leaned  to  look  where  the  pathway 

shone, 

And  she  saw  she  must  travel  it  all  alone 
So  narrow  it  was  and  cramped  and  low ; 
And  she  flung  him  a  thorn,  and  let  him  go. 


42  THREE  SINGERS 

One  Singer  was  Love,  and  his  voice  was  sweet 

As  wind  blown  out  of  the  South. 
No  fame  he  offered,  no  lure  of  gold; 
But  a  kiss  for  her  warm,  red  mouth. 
And  she  leaned  to  glimpse  where  the  path  ran 

through, 

And  she  saw  there  was  room  a-plenty  for  two — 
For  two  to  walk  and  never  to  part ; 
And  she  flung  him  a  rose,  and  the  rose  was 
her  heart ! 


ON  THE  TRAIL 

Choose  him  alone  to  be  thy  guide 
Who  has  gone  further  on  the  road, 

Who  knows  its  pitfalls  and  has  borne 
In  stress  of  pain  its  bitter  load. 

He  will  not  let  thee  miss  the  way 

Though  paths  divide  and  clouds  be  gray. 

Let  him  thy  mentor  be  whose  soul 
Has  known  the  passion  of  despair; 

Whose  eyes  have  watched  an  empty  trail 
Through  nights  of  gloom  and  days  of  care. 

His  quickened  vision  will  be  keen 

To  see  life's  shadow  'neath  its  sheen. 

To  learn  forgiveness  look  to  him 

Who  has  been  wronged  in  word  and  deed, 

Whose  heart  has  ached  with  trust  betrayed, 
Yet  faltered  not  in  love's  high  creed; 

He  only  can  thy  master  be 

To  climb  white  heights  of  charity. 


43 


THE    WRITING    IN    THE    SAND 

They  dragged  her  to  the  Master's  feet 

Abashed  with  shame  and  numb  with  dread. 

"We  know  the  law  that  Moses  wrote, 
But  judge  you  her,"  the  fierce  mob  said. 

She  stood  deserted  and  abhorred, 

The  world-wide  type  of  such  as  she, 

While  in  safe  haunts  and  pleasant  ways 
The  partner  of  her  guilt  went  free. 


44 


THE  WRITING  IN  THE  SAND  45 

In  her  seared  eyes  the  wonder  grew 
That  she  alone  the  shame  must  know, 

Yet  dumb  she  waited,  breast  a-heave, 
To  feel  the  mob's  first  stinging  blow. 

Then  Jesus  said:  "The  sinless  one 
May  cast  the  stone  that's  in  his  hand." 

And  while  the  conscience-stricken  mob  dispersed 
He  stooped  and  wrote  upon  the  sand. 

Wrote  on  the  sand  the  mystic  line 
The  probing  ages  fain  would  scan; 

Perchance  the  wondering  woman  read 
The  letters  dim :    "Where  is  the  man  ?" 

The  woman  climbs  her  Calvary  here, 
Outlawed  and  scorned  and  set  aside; 

Each  day,  with  sneer  of  good  and  bad, 
Her  spirit  is  re-crucified ; 


46  THE  WRITING  IN  THE  SAND- 

The  while  the  man,  more  scarlet  far 
Since  he  was  tempter  to  her  soul, 

Goes  down  the  sunny  side  of  life 
Unhindered  of  his  dearest  goal. 

Yet  who  may  say  he  shall  escape? 

When  life  has  run  its  little  span 
He'll  read  that  writing  in  the  dust 

And,  trembling,  say:    "I  am  the  man." 


THE  SOLSTICES 

It  does  not  always  fall  in  June — 
The  longest  day  of  all  the  year, 
Which  in  the  calends  doth  appear 
Set  down  by  rule  inviolate 

As  more  of  sun  than  moon. 

But,  sweet,  for  me  the  longest  day. 
The  one  that  seems  to  have  no  end, 
The  blankest  time  the  seasons  send — 
Or  red  with  June  or  bleached  with  snow- 
Is  when  you  are  away. 

And,  sweetheart  mine,  of  all  the  year — 
Despite  December's  ancient  claim — 
The  shortest  day,  with  heart  of  flame 
And  flying  feet  that  will  not  stay, 

Is  when  I  hold  you  near. 


47 


ONE  DAY 

'Tis  said,  sweetheart,  that  in  each  life 
There  dawns  one  perfect  day; 

One  day  so  white  with  touch  of  love 

It  matters  not  if  skies  above 
Be  blue  or  gray — 

One  day  so  steeped  in  peace  and  dreams 

That  we  forget 

Hearts  ever  ached,  or  that  with  tears 
That  hid  the  vista  of  the  years 

Eyes  have  been  wet. 


48 


ONE  DAY  49 

Yet  some  there  are  who  miss  that  day 

And  blindly  go, 

Nor  glimpse  the  radiance  from  afar, 
Nor  in  the  dusk  catch  one  faint  star; 

But,  ah,  sweetheart,  I'll  know! 

I'll  know  when  o'er  the  purple  hills 

From  crypts  of  night 
The  first  ray  creeps,  all  amber-pale, 
And  downward  slips  athwart  the  vale — 

Translucent  light. 

It  may  not  differ  from  all  days — 

No  more  of  cloud  or  clear, 
But,  heart  of  mine,  the  blessed  light 
Will  give  you  to  my  yearning  sight, 

And  I  shall  hold  you  near. 

I  care  not  if  the  sun  shall  shine 

Or  rains  drip  silver  gray, 
If  snow  lies  white,  or  blooms  the  lea — 
The  time  that  brings  you  back  to  me    ^x 

Shall  be  my  perfect  day ! 


SHIP  O'  DREAMS 

A  white,  white  sail  spread  over  my  ship, 

As  white  as  a  gull's  wing  gleams ; 
And  it  weighed  its  anchor  and  slipped  away 
When  the  years  were  young  and  the  heart  was  gay- 

My  beautiful  ship  o'  dreams. 

'Twas  freighted  with  love  that  was  ever  to  last 

Though  faith  and  friends  should  fail; 
And  its  prow  was  set  to  the  golden  west 
Where  the  sun  sinks  down  in  a  haven  of  Rest 
And  the  storm-wraiths  never  wail. 


50 


SHIP  O'  DREAMS  51 

And  far  and  away  it  sailed  and  sailed, 

Its  free,  white  wings  unfurled, 
Still  and  forever  a-tracking  the  sun 
In  a  shining  path  where  the  bright  waves  run — 

Run  over  the  rim  of  the  world. 


But  it  never  came  back  into  port,  my  ship, 

Never  came  back  from  its  quest ; 
Though  I  lighted  my  beacons  high  up  on  the  trail 
Its  cargo  of  hope  went  down  in  the  gale 

Outside  of  the  haven  of  Rest. 

And  oft  when  the  day  dies  down  to  the  dark 

I  look  where  the  sunset  streams, 
And  I  seem  to  see,  all  ghostly  and  pale, 
A  broken  prow  and  a  tattered  sail — 

The  wreck  o'  my  ship  o'  dreams ! 


RED  ROSES 

FEBRUARY  FOURTEEN 

Roses  for  my  lady  fair, 

Roses  red  as  wine! 
They  are  the  heralds  that  shall  say 
To  her  upon  this  love-sweet  day 

She  is  my  valentine! 

52 


RED  ROSES  53 

For  since  the  old-time  saint  was  young 

(Unless  the  legend  errs), 
When  tender  words  were  to  be  said 
To  just  one  heart,  the  roses  red 

Have  been  love's  messengers. 

Their  language  is  a  secret  code 

With  cipher  planned 
To  spell  a  tender  sweetheart  creed, 
Which  lovers'  eyes  alone  may  read, 

And  lovers  understand. 

So  at  St.  Valentine's  behest 

This  day  I  choose, 
To  fly  as  swift  as  homing  dove 
And  bear  my  lady  all  my  love, 

The  heart  of  this  red  rose! 


MY  SONG 

I  made  me  a  song,  and  I  fared  me  forth 
To  find  who  would  listen  and  weep. 

For  I  told  the  sorrowful  truths  of  life — 
The  vigils  our  souls  must  keep, 

The  failures  that  lurk  where  the  path  runs  rough, 
The  ambushed  sorrow  that  waits, 

The  biting  bitter  out-tasting  the  sweet 
In  cup  that  is  brewed  of  the  Fates. 


54 


MY  SONG  55 

And  my  song  I  sang  to  a  child  at  play, 

But  he  put  his  hand  to  his  ear : 
"Oh,  I  like  a  tune  with  a  laugh,"  he  cried, 

"This  one  has  the  drip  of  a  tear." 

A  soldier,  belted  and  girded  for  fight, 
With  his  banners  flashing  on  high, 

Scoffed  loud  at  my  lay:   "Of  glory  I  dream; 
What  has  fame  to  do  with  a  sigh?" 

Two  lovers  who  strolled  in  the  faint  star-gleam 
At  sound  of  my  voice  turned  back : 

"To  us  the  whole  world  is  roseate  and  gold, 
Why  chant  of  a  shadow  that's  black?" 

And  I  sang  my  song  to  a  man  who  toiled 

In  the  hellish  dark  of  a  mine, 
But  he  cursed  the  strain  with  a  snarling  jibe, 

For  he  wanted  the  sweet  sunshine. 


56  MY  SONG 

Then  an  aged  crone  put  my  rhyme  to  shame 
With  a  shake  of  her  wise,  gray  head: 

"I've  come  to  the  edge  of  the  grave  with  grief, 
Make  me  laugh  as  I  die,"  she  said. 

So  I  tore  my  sorrowful  song  to  shreds 
And  I  cast  it  out  to  the  wilds, 

For  I'd  learned,  though  the  world  be  eons  old, 
Its  heart  is  as  young  as  a  child's. 


THE  LITTLE  THINGS 

God  sends  us  little  joys  for  daily  diet — 
The  kindly  word,  the  outstretched  hand, 
The  smile  our  hearts  can  understand, 

A  song  of  hope,  an  hour  of  quiet. 

And  with  them  come  the  little  griefs  and  cares — 
The  broken  trysts,  the  rainy  days, 
The  slighting  word,  the  dearth  of  praise, 

Each  stab  that  in  a  heartache  shares. 

And  little  sacrifices  day  by  day 

Wait  at  our  doors — the  wish  suppressed, 
The  yielded  place,  the  fault  confessed, 

Self  set  aside,  love's  long  delay. 

These  are  our  hourly  gleanings  in  the  strife, 
These  humble  flow'rs,  so  small  and  trite ; 
The  wonder-blooms  of  love  and  pain  blow  white 
(Like  altar  lilies  for  a  solemn  rite^ 

But  one  time  in  the  span  of  life. 


57 


YESTERDAY 

Where  runs  the  road  to  Yesterday, 
Does  nobody,  nobody  know? 

It  can't  be  far,  for  I  traveled  it 
When  the  sun  was  sinking  low. 

All  of  you  journeyed  the  self-same  path — 

Will  nobody,  nobody  tell? 
Is  it  by  the  rocks  or  over  the  hills, 

Or  where  the  white  tides  swell? 

It  must  be  near,  for  I  only  turned 
A  corner  and  entered  the  night, 

And  I  slept  not  long,  for  my  heart  was  sore 
For  a  glimpse  of  the  backward  light. 


58 


YESTERDAY  59 

But,  oh,  somehow  I  have  lost  the  trail — 
The  foot-worn  trail  that  pilgrims  made 

Journeying  up  from  the  Wonderland 
Facing  the  east  and  unafraid. 

But  I  must  go  back,  go  back,  you  see ; 

(Will  nobody  show  me  the  way?) 
For  I've  left  my  heart  and  my  hope  behind 

In  the  land  of  Yesterday. 

But  how  may  I  know  the  grass- grown  path? 

Where  glimmers  the  mystical  line? 
I  scan  the  far  horizon's  hem 

In  quest  of  a  hidden  sign — 

But  never  a  guide  post  points  the  way 

And  never  a  milestone  shows, 
And  nobody  walks  the  forgotten  track, 

For  nobody,  nobody  knows. 


TIRED 

Ah,  no ;  'tis  not  for  strength  I  pray ; 
Once,  long  ago,  there  was  a  day 

When  all  my  prayer, 
Vibrant  with  pleading,  was  for  power 
To  bear  the  burden  of  each  hour 

Nor  cry  for  aid. 


60 


TIRED  61 

It  was  for  silent  lips,  for  eyes  unwet, 
For  heart  that  sought  but  to  forget 

That  I  implored — 
For  calm  of  spirit  that  should  lie 
As  soft  as  dawn  on  eastern  sky 

When  night  is  done. 

But  now  I  ask  for  these  no  more. 
Here  at  the  Morning's  open  door 

I  cast  my  burden  down ; 
I've  carried  it  the  long  years  through, 
And  though  each  step  it  heavier  grew 

I  stumbled  on. 

Yea,  groped  and  strove,  but  now  for  lack 
Of  strength  and  hope  I  give  it  back 

To  you  who  gave. 
You  carry  it,  dear  Lord,  a  while, 
A  day's  length  or  a  little  mile — 

I  am  so  tired. 


THE  NINTH  HOUR 

GOOD   FRIDAY 

No  sea  is  always  calm;  no  ship 

Sails  out  its  little  day  without  despair; 
The  flood-tide  hides  the  sunken  rocks  with  peace, 

The  ebbing  leaves  them  bare. 
Yea,  bare  and  snarling  in  the  foam 

Tossed  in  white  wreaths  up  to  the  deck, 
And  on  the  quiet  sands  to-morrow's  sun 

May  rise  upon  a  wreck. 


62 


THE  NINTH  HOUR  63 

No  life  is  always  safe;  no  soul 

So  free  and  fair  but  it  must  know 
The  awful  desolation  that  abides 

In  some  "ninth  hour"  of  woe — 
Some  black  and  bitter  time  when  we  lose  God 

And  faith  and  hope  and  fealty, 
And  in  the  heart  is  one  accusing  cry. 

"Lama  sabachthani !" 

And  yet,  does  God  forsake,  or  is  it  we 

Who  can  not  see  or  understand? 
Shall  we  not  find  Him  where  the  shadows  fall 

If  we  put  forth  a  hand? 
The  deepest  dark  comes  just  before  the  day, 

From  storms  the  brightest  stars  are  born, 
And  that  "ninth  hour"  may  but  the  prelude  be 

Of  some  fair  Easter  dawn. 


COMRADES  THREE 

Nay,  not  alone 

When,  sunrise  signals  in  the  sky 
And  in  the  hedge  the  thrush's  cry, 

She  took  the  long,  long  trail. 

Three  with  her  walked, 
Three  comrades  down  each  sunny  slope, 
And  one  was  Love,  and  one  was  Hope, 

And  one  was  Faith  supreme. 


64 


COMRADES  THREE  65 

And  life  was  joy, 
Until  one  black  and  bitter  day 
Love  faltered  on  the  upward  way, 

Faltered  and  lost  the  step. 

And  when  at  last, 

White-faced  as  one  who  bears  a  load, 
She  took  again  the  onward  road, 

Two  only  walked  with  her. 

Then  Hope  that  erst 
Had  always  laughed,  or  rough  or  smooth 

the  track, 
Forgot  his  song  and  turned  him  back, 

A-whimper  for  his  mate. 

And  though  she  called 
He  answered  not,  but  stayed  to  weep 
And  by  the  side  of  dead  Love  keep 

A  vigil  through  the  dark. 


66  COMRADES  THREE 

And  so  but  one 

Came  with  her  to  the  journey's  end, 
Where  sunset  banners  droop  and  blend — 

But  one  of  all  the  three. 

For  Faith  abides, 

When  night's  black  ensigns  fill  the  sky 
It  puts  the  crowding  shadows  by 

And  shows  the  quiet  stars. 

And  yet  she  knows 

That  somewhere,  somehow  she  will  find 
The  Love  and  Hope  she  left  behind 

Waiting  where  ends  the  road. 


WHAT  THEN? 

Let  us  forget, 

For,  like  a  sharp  stiletto  turned 

In  gaping  wound,  is  Memory; 
The  old  songs  and  the  old  sweet  loves 

Stab  deep  with  keenest  misery. 
The  thoughts  of  by-gone  days  are  nails 

That  crucify  with  bitter  woe — 
Why  should  we  suffer  day  by  day? 

Why  should  our  lives  no  respite  know? 
Let  us  forget ! 

And  yet,  and  yet, 

If  we  should  put  away  the  past, 

Should  bury  it  so  deep,  so  deep 
That  not  a  wraith  of  all  its  days 

With  our  sad  souls  a  tryst  could  keep — 
If  love,  with  all  its  tender  dreams 

Should  to  oblivion  succumb — 
If  we  indeed  forgot,  then  what 

For  all  the  empty  years  to  come 
Would  there  be  left? 


67 


DAY  AFTER  DAY 

JANUARY    FIRST 

It  lies  before,  the  year's  untrodden  road ; 

How  can  we  journey  all  its  length, 
How  bear  the  crowding  burdens  of  the  way? 

So  small  our  courage  and  our  strength ! 

But  singing  through  the  silence  comes 
To  give  us  hope,  this  truth  sublime : 

We  do  not  live  the  whole  long  year  at  once, 
God  sends  it  one  day  at  a  time. 

68 


DAY  AFTER  DAY  69 

One  day  for  Joy  that  laughs  at  care 
And  holds  with  Love  its  tender  tryst ; 

One  day  when  every  passing  hour 
Is  winged  with  gold  and  amethyst — 

One  day  for  grief,  when  Sorrow  sits 
And  brews  her  bitter  cup  of  pain 

And  croons  for  us  that  age-old  rune 
That  has  a  heart-ache  for  refrain. 

For  each  day  God  has  set  the  stakes 
Where  hot  sands  scorch  or  roses  blow ; 

Each  nightfall  finds  one  journey  done, 
Each  eve  a  respite  we  shall  know. 

And  so,  despite  the  shadow's  gloom 

We  take  the  road  with  faith  sublime, 

Content  to  know,  though  long  the  year, 
God  sends  it  one  day  at  a  time. 


RAINBOW'S  END 

Let  us  play  the  game  of  the  younger  years, 
The  sweet  old  game  of  "Just  pretend;" 

Let  us  steal  apart  from  the  Now  and  Here 
And  hie  us  away  to  the  rainbow's  end. 

Let  us  pretend  we  are  back  once  more 
On  the  trail  we  lost  in  the  long  ago, 

When  rose-hued  June  leaned  over  the  hills 
And  shook  her  rain  on  the  fields  below. 


70 


RAINBOWS  END  71 

Let  us  pretend  that  the  gray,  gray  days, 
Which  now  we  walk  with  tear-blind  eyes, 

Are  filtered  through  with  the  seven-hued  light 
That  slipped  in  an  arch  from  the  clouded  skies. 

Let  us  pretend  that  the  bag  of  gold 
That's  lying  there  at  the  rainbow's  end 

Is  the  love  we  lost  in  the  faded  years 
Ere  ever  we  needed  to  "just  pretend." 

Let  us  pretend,  for  'tis  only  thus 
In  make-believe  we  catch  the  sign 

Of  the  "love,  love,  love !"  that  the  robins  sang 
At  the  rainbow's  end — 0  heart  of  mine! 


LOVERS'  LANE 

Side  by  side  with  the  highway  of  life 

With  only  a  space  between — 
A  space  so  narrow  we  reach  across 

And  pluck  a  sprig  o'  the  green — 
Runs  another  road,  or  over  the  hill 

Or  over  the  sun-bright  plain 
Or  down  where  the  cliffs  slip  into  the  sea, 

And  we  call  it  Lovers'  Lane. 

There  tall,  white  lilies  forever  nod, 
There  the  roses  blow  blood  red, 

And  like  incarnate  spirit  of  hope 
A  thrush  sings  high  o'erhead. 


72 


LOVERS'  LANE  73 

The  violets  say:    "Be  true,  be  true," 

In  passionate,  soft  refrain; 
And  the  sun  by  day  and  the  steadfast  stars 

Keep  watch  over  Lovers'  Lane. 

And  all  of  us  walk  at  some  sweet  time 

There  under  the  arching  boughs, 
And  catch  the  gleam  of  a  crimson  rose, 

The  whisper  of  tender  vows. 
Out  of  the  sordid  sorrows  of  life 

To  castles  we  built  in  Spain, 
We  go  through  the  mists  of  golden  dreams 

By  the  way  of  Lovers'  Lane. 

And  into  the  dusk  of  the  after  years 

We  take  the  memory  sweet 
Of  the  lips  we  kissed  and  of  vows  we  heard, 

And  the  pulses'  quickened  beat. 
The  highway  of  life  may  be  snow-bleached 

Or  sodden  of  tears  and  rain, 
But  the  roses  bloom  and  the  lilies  nod 

Forever  in  Lovers'  Lane. 


BON  VOYAGE 

So  many  ships  put  out  to  sea, 

So  many  silver  sails 
Go  dipping  through  the  lilac  dawn 
To  where  the  skyline  fails; 

So  many  ships — but,  ah !  just  one 
Sails  with  my  heart  to  meet  the  sun. 

So  many  roses  blowing  wide 
'Neath  kiss  of  vagrant  wind, 
So  many  petals  pearled  with  dew 
The  eager  seekers  find; 

But,  ah!  one  rose — the  reddest  one — 
Lifts  up  my  heart  to  meet  the  sun. 

For  just  one  ship  bears  o'er  the  tide 

Love's  dearest  and  its  best, 
And  just  one  rose  of  all  the  world 
She  wears  upon  her  breast. 

Ah,  ship  and  rose  and  tides  that  run, 
My  heart  goes  with  you  'neath  the  sun ! 


74 


SONG 

I  meant  to  work  so  hard  to-day, 

See  naught  but  tasks  to  do, 
But — I  glimpsed  your  face  amid  the  crowd, 
And  I  dreamed  all  day  of  you. 

I  meant  to  toil  through  every  hour, 

Deaf  to  the  calls  that  rise, 
But — I  heard  you  laugh  at  my  open  door, 
And  I  thought  all  day  of  your  eyes. 

I  meant  to  finish  each  weary  task, 

Dumbly  doing  my  part, 
But — oh,  the  smile  of  your  rose-warm  mouth 
Has  lived  all  day  in  my  heart ! 

So  what  does  it  matter  at  evensong 

That  all  my  work's  undone, 
Since— e'en  in  a  dream,  I  went  with  you 
A-gypsying  into  the  sun ! 


75 


DAY'S  END 

Day's  end — and  behind  us  lie 

The  good  or  the  gilded  wrong 

That  have  filled  the  space  of  the  day's  sweet  grace, 
Ere  the  coming  of  evensong. 

Day's  end — hush,  hush,  my  heart, 

Fear  not  what  the  night  may  hold 
For  a  mist  of  moon  and  shimmer  of  stars 
Lie  close  in  its  ebon  fold. 


76 


DAY'S  END  77 

Year's  end — and  the  months  roll  back 

As  a  scroll  unwound  by  chance 
And  the  red  of  the  rose  meets  pallor  of  snows 
Like  the  ghost  of  an  old  romance. 
Year's  end — be  still,  my  heart, 

What  matters  a  broken  dream? 
For  a  new,  sweet  love  with  April  eyes 
Will  wait  where  the  violets  gleam. 

Life's  end?     What,  then,  is  a  day, 
And  what  is  a  whole  long  year 
But  a  finished  rhyme  in  the  hymn  of  Time 
Which  ever  the  angels  hear? 

Life's  end?    Heart,  O  my  heart, 
List  the  dead  years'  far  refrain 
And  know  by  the  rise  and  set  of  the  stars 
The  end  means  beginning  again ! 


THE  HILLS  OF  GOD 

The  hills  of  God  are  hard  to  climb, 

O  tender  little  feet; 
They  stand  up  high  above  the  plain 
And  beckon  to  the  wind  and  rain, 
And  one  is  Faith  and  one  is  Pain, 

O  tired  little  feet! 

The  upward  trails  are  flanked  with  thorns, 

O  little  pilgrim  heart; 
The  stones  that  shine  so  white  ahead 
Are  sacrificial  altars  spread, 
Where  you  must  leave  your  passions,  dead, 

O  little  pilgrim  heart! 

But,  ah,  the  hills  of  God  they  lean  so  close 

Against  the  feet  of  God, 
You  see  from  off  their  sun-lit  crest 
The  goal  that  is  your  prayerful  quest 
And  hear  the  voice  you've  loved  the  best 
High  on  the  hills  of  God. 


78 


FATE'S  TRINITY 

Three  things  there  are  fate  asks  of  us, 
Three  things  to  test  and  prove 

The  God-spark  lingers  in  our  souls — 
To  laugh,  to  lift,  to  love. 

To  laugh,  brave-hearted,  at  despair, 

Meet  sorrow  without  fear, 
And  through  the  darkness  of  defeat 

To  send  a  word  of  cheer — 

To  bear  a  burden  without  whine 

However  steep  the  road, 
To  reach  a  lifting  hand  to  ease 

A  fellow  traveler's  load — 

To  hear  above  hope's  happy  song 

A  hurt  heart's  cry  for  aid ; 
To  love  the  bruised  and  maimed  and  sad, 

To  live  all  unafraid. 


79 


THE  WANDER-WAY 

Springtime — and  the  bluebird's  song 

And  gold  of  daffodils, 
And  the  beckoning  trail  that  runs 

Away  to  the  waiting  hills ; 
These — and  a  low,  clear  call 

At  my  restless  heart  all  day 
With  pilgrim  staff  to  be  out  and  gone 

Over  the  Wander- Way ! 

Gone  where  the  reeds,  a-quiver, 
Sing  like  the  pipes  o'  Pan, 

And  the  gleam  of  the  golden  willows 
Marks  where  the  spring  began ; 


80 


THE  WANDER-WAY  81 

With  never  a  pack  on  my  shoulders 

The  speed  of  my  step  to  stay, 
Tracking  a  will-o'-the-wisp  decoy 

Over  the  Wander- Way. 

Winds  from  the  fragrant  Southland 

Seeking  some  Holy  Grail 
Stir  purple  lure  of  violets  spread 

Beside  the  half -hid  trail ; 
While  high  o'er  head  an  argosy, 

White-sailed,  drifts  all  the  day — 
Cloud-ships  by  unseen  pilots  steered 

Over  the  Wander- Way. 

Oh,  to  be  free  as  the  birds  are, 

Swift  as  the  winds  are  swift 
To  hit  the  trail  that  winds  away 

To  where  the  dim  hills  lift, 
And  there  to  hail  a  white  cloud-ship 

Bound  for  the  ports  of  day, 
And  sail,  and  sail — and  never  come  back 

Over  the  Wander- Way ! 


THE  MASTER'S  TOLL 

Three  things  the  Master  asks  of  you, 
Though  strong  or  weak,  or  high  or  low, 
Or  want  or  riches  you  may  know, 
Three  tolls  He  levies  as  you  go, 

Nor  takes  denial  on  your  part — 

A  steadfast  will  His  love  exacts, 
The  will  to  meet  each  daily  grind 
Of  sordid  chaff  and  in  it  find 
(In  spite  of  hindering  tears  that  blind) 

The  golden  grain  of  sweet  content — 


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THE  MASTER'S  TOLL  83 

A  hand  that's  never  too  close  shut 
To  share  its  shining  garnered  gold, 
Nor  yet  too  callous  nor  too  cold 
Another  hand  to  softly  fold 

Nor  miss  the  throbbing  pulse  of  pain — 

A  heart  that  hearkens  day  and  night 
To  fainting  cries  from  "out  the  deep," 
A  heart  that  wakes  while  others  sleep, 
That  shares  a  joy,  and  yet  doth  keep 

A  tryst  with  those  who  know  despair. 

This  is  the  toll  the  Master  takes. 
The  love,  the  help,  the  purpose  high 
Are  yours  to  give,  nor  reason  why ; 
His  answer  will  come  by  and  by 

When  life  has  blossomed  into  death. 


ALL  SOULS 

(On  All  Souls'  Night  the  dead  are  supposed  to  be  al- 
lowed to  return  to  earth  for  a  sight  of  old  haunts  and 
once  familiar  faces.) 

This  night,  just  this  one  only  night 

They  may  come  back  again, 
The  souls  that  have  passed  through  the  Gates, 

Shrived  of  all  earthly  stain. 

So  many  myriad  hurrying  ones, 

So  many  seeking  those 
They  knew  and  loved,  ere  on  life's  day 

Fell  death's  eternal  close. 

So  many  changes  in  the  world, 

So  many  homes  removed, 
Suppose — Ah,  God !  you  will  not  let  them  miss 

The  way  to  those  they  loved ! 

Through  dim,  mysterious  distances 

To  where  we  wait  alone, 
The  instinct  of  a  homing-heart 

Will  bring  them  to  their  own. 


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UNANSWERED 


Unanswered,  did  you  say,  your  prayer  to  tread 
Always  the  shining  paths  of  perfect  peace — 
To  bask  day  after  day  in  deep  content 
That  comes  of  hope  attained,  of  pain's  surcease  ? 

Unanswered  ?    Yea,  for  'tis  a  selfish  cry, 

A  plea  to  shirk  and  not  to  bravely  bear ; 

Why  should  you  think  that  God  would  take  away. 

Each  little  cross  that  is  your  rightful  share  ? 


II 


Unanswered,  did  you  say,  your  prayer  for  strength 
To  meet  the  heartache  and  the  woe  of  years, 
To  see,  clear-eyed,  where  paths  of  duty  lead 
Nor  miss  the  way  through  dusk  of  unshed  tears? 
Unanswered?    Nay,  look  deep  within  your  heart ; 
Read  there  the  patience  'neath  the  outward  fret, 
Watch  how  your  hands  reach  out  to  helpful  tasks, 
And  know  by  these  that  God  does  not  forget. 


85 


SWEETEST  EYES 


SONG 


Sweetest  eyes  that  ever 

Laughed  into  my  own, 
Not  a  cloud  of  sorrow 

Have  you  ever  known. 
Hope  is  beckoning  to  you 

O'er  the  hills  of  fame 
And  each  grayest  ember 
Holds  a  heart  of  flame. 

Love  is  waiting,  waiting, 

Like  a  rose  just  blown- 
Sweetest  eyes  that  ever 
Laughed  into  my  own. 


87 


Saddest  eyes  that  ever 

Looked  into  my  own, 
All  of  life's  deep  tragedy 
You  have  surely  known. 
Dimmed  with  night-long  vigils, 

Through  the  cruel  years 
You  have  told  hope's  rosary 
With  your  bitter  tears. 

Light  of  love  and  laughter 

From  your  depths  has  flown — 
Saddest  eyes  that  ever 
Looked  into  my  own ! 


ANNIVERSARIES 

How  they  do  search  the  soul  of  us, 

Those  annual  recurrent  days 
That  from  all  time  are  set  apart 
By  some  dread  loss,  some  throb  of  heart, 
Some  venomed  touch  of  poisoned  dart, 

Some  parting  of  the  ways. 

On  such  a  day  our  unleashed  thoughts 
Run  down  the  vanished  years, 

And  single  from  time's  rosary 

The  golden  beads  of  memory 

That  are  the  heart's  best  legacy 
Or  heritage  of  tears. 


ANNIVERSARIES  89 

"  'Twas  here  we  met,"  we  say,  and  feel 

The  pulses'  old  delicious  start ; 
"Here  bloomed  our  rose  of  love."     And: 

"Here" 

( O  death,  why  did  you  come  so  near, 
Were  not  there  those  far  much  less  dear?) 

"Here  God  did  break  my  heart !" 

And  as  we  live  again  the  scenes — 

Or  sweet  or  sad  they  be — 
We  cry  aloud  but  just  to  know 
If  they  who  shared  that  Long-ago 
Can  feel,  across  death's  midnight  flow, 

A  stir  of  memory. 

For  if  Love  lives  beyond  the  stars, 

If  Faith  outlasts  the  years, 
Then  surely  those  who've  gone  before, 
Upon  these  days  will  reach  once  more 
To  us  a  hand-touch  as  of  yore 

And  keep  a  tryst  of  tears. 


CONTENT 

Grant  that  I  be  content ;  yet,  Lord, 

Not  wholly  so, 
Lest  losing  thus  ambition's  goad 

Life's  apathy  I  know. 

The  victor's  palms  are  ofttimes  wet 

With  tears  that  shrive ; 
Make  me  content  to  find  it  so 

Yet  still  content  to  strive. 


90 


